


Awake, Asleep and everything in between

by Doitsuki



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, PWP, Smut, Somnophilia, also there's no pain or rapey stuff, im gonna get rekt for this arent i, just thrandy sleeping and leggles doing stuff that he would consent to while awake, so um, well there's a little plot but ehh you know, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas loves his father but Thranduil pays little attention to him. He only wants to see him smile...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one go, exactly in an hour for a somnophilia kink I've had going around in my mind for a few days. Ayy lmao

**_~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~_ **

Legolas has watched his father for three hundred years and has not once seen him truly relaxed. Thranduil carries stress in his shoulders, broad and tall as they remain tense so as not to slump. He cannot slouch, for he is the Elvenking and those of royal blood have no right to ever let their weariness show. Not before their people, where Thranduil is required to be every day. He sits on his huge throne covered in thick silk robes with a glass of wine in one hand and lazy gestures at the other, but his eyes rarely focus on any one thing. Legolas knows. He watches.

Tonight is no different to any other and the prince executes his routine without fail. He presses his ear to the door of Thranduil’s private chambers and waits until the King breathes a little slower, like taking a deep drink from a cool lake. The sound of sleep. Legolas knows it well.

He has not slept himself since the day he passed fifty, maturing out of his elfling body to the point where his height nearly matched his father’s. Of course, he is still only up to Thranduil’s chest but the King does not disrespect him for his height, or anything at all. Thranduil loves his little baby boy. Or so Legolas likes to think.

 _‘When was the last time he and I spoke on a personal level?_ ’ Legolas wonders as he presses his palm flat against the door and pushes it open, just enough to build up a creak but not past the threshold of creating noise. Thranduil’s sleep is still light at this stage and Legolas is loathe to disturb him. The Elvenking speaks little of love and closeness, instead keeping distance between the world and his tender heart. Legolas does not know of his compassion, nor the sadness he keeps caged inside. His father has always been distant, and it hurts him every day. But he can do little other than live his own life, for Thranduil does not let anyone in. He sits, he eats, he suppresses every sorrow that dares to raise its head with wine and due to his age, he sleeps. He needs to. Legolas knows this, and chooses these hours when Thranduil is at rest to stay by his side. In silence, he sits on the bed and watches. Thranduil’s dark brows do not furrow with six thousand years of endless burdens when he goes to sleep at night. His body folds in on itself after a particularly long day, or if he is drunk, he sprawls out everywhere and it is Legolas’s duty to tuck him in. Thranduil never remembers, but the effort is there, unnoticed and soft. Everything Legolas does for his father is with the gentleness of an elf who has never been mistreated a day in his life and holds nothing but love for the world. Thranduil grieves, cries when he thinks he is alone but he has never neglected his son. If Legolas wants something enough to ask for it, Thranduil will do his best to make those dreams come true. Now, Legolas wonders what his father dreams of. Every night he tries to peer into Thranduil’s mind, and at the slightest sign of a nightmare he will chase it away. His hands ghost over Thranduil’s nude, sleeping form, the pads of his fingers touching a smooth chest that rises and falls with even breaths. The King does not look after himself very well, but it is natural for his body to remain as perfect as the day it was made. His silky skin is so creamy and forgiving as Legolas presses into soft flesh, all around his delicate form… Why, Thranduil looks absolutely vulnerable here and has the slightest pout to his thin, pale lips. His hands draw close to his chest and Legolas retracts his touch, careful with the speed of his movements so the thick sheets do not rustle too much.

_‘No… I will not poke him. He deserves better than that. Come, Ada… let me touch you.’_

“Shhh…” His warm breath like a gentle breeze curls past Thranduil’s ear, the heat of his mouth coiling around the shell. At the very tip he presses a loving kiss, not a single sound of saliva or lust to be heard. He is silent and considerate for his father’s rest, yet his lips linger at the hot, sweet flesh. Thranduil smells especially wonderful late at night, like tiny jasmine blossoms waving their scent into fresh cool air. So natural and intoxicating, the deeper Legolas breathes… oh, yes there is definitely more of that in a certain crevice nearby. The bridge of Legolas’s nose slides in perfect harmony with Thranduil’s smooth skin and the tip feels a pulse slow and heavy in the King’s neck. There is where he breathes in and mouths at the muscle leading from collarbone to ear, where Thranduil’s robes often tease at an intimate glance. He kisses all the way down to Thranduil’s chest, bare and inviting with the moonlight from outside casting a silvery sheen against his pointed nipples.

“Oh, are you cold?” Legolas purrs, his voice a suave rumble that vibrates deep in his throat. There is a thickness to his words like honey that pours onto the flat planes of Thranduil’s pectorals. The King is not especially muscular or fat, but in his body there is strength, coated with indulgence and kept healthy by a quick elven metabolism. Legolas can find no fault with his father’s figure and worships it as the King sleeps. His mouth closes around a single nipple to warm it against the slightly cold air. Soft rain patters on the closed window to the left of the bed and the general temperature in the palace has dropped. Legolas knows this is no problem for his father. Thranduil has his own personal heater here with him now.

As Legolas swirls his tongue around the tight pink nub, Thranduil breathes through his nose a little longer than his previous inhale. The steady thump of his heart does not change, comforting to Legolas’s sensitive ears. When a slight sucking is applied, Thranduil’s breath hitches and his jaw shifts ever so slightly. Legolas takes this as his cue to move to the other side and repeats his gentle lapping motions. Eventually he decides a little more touching will do Thranduil some good, for the way he is breathing indicates uneven arousal and Legolas only wants to relax him for tonight. However, he cannot deny the bliss he feels when Thranduil’s every need is sated and he sleeps in such deep pleasure that he _smiles_. His father’s smiles mean more to Legolas than anything in the world, and it secretly brings him joy to know that nobody can bring that to Thranduil’s face other than him.

Like a sliver of strawberry poked into a pie, Legolas pushes himself under the warm covers and inhales the sweet, steamy scent of his father’s body. _Mmmm,_ he is ever so lovely and soft, especially around the thighs… It is the first place Legolas wants to touch and Thranduil’s legs are already spread, waiting for him. The heat there burns with intense passion and comfort for Legolas’s slender hand, which does not even have to wriggle much to get to the very top of Thranduil’s crotch. With easy languor he strokes and strokes, in a calm, wavelike motion that glides up and down then all around.

“Oohhhnn…” Thranduil moans, his lips parting as his head turns to one side. There is a little tension in his brows and this just will not do, so Legolas rises to kiss the space there until the wrinkles relax.

“You are so very beautiful, Ada…” Legolas whispers as his hand goes roaming once again, this time to massage Thranduil’s warm belly. “I love you…”

Thranduil does not hear his son, but Legolas cares little for whether or not Thranduil knows what is going on. The prince wishes to dote upon his father, and that is all he needs for tonight. He does not see it as his own need, though. It makes much more sense to see it as something for Thranduil, as a gift rather than selifsh desire. He rubs in soothing circles down Thranduil’s stomach until he reaches the solid arousal between spread legs. The moment he grabs it, he glances to watch Thranduil tip his head back into his pillow and sigh, “Ahhhh….”

The sound is low and melodious, so delightful for Legolas to hear. His father enjoys what is being done to him and only wants more. Greedy, indulgent Thranduil. How much of his son will he demand and what will he give in return? A little scenario of give and take plays out in Legolas’s mind. There he is, the King’s own son between his legs with head bowed and hands to the floor, waiting for orders. Raising his head. Taking a swollen, wet arousal between his lips and listening to the King’s moans as he serenades the whole royal court. Oh, _yes_ , Legolas likes the thought of that very much. His little fantasy is not so far away as he slides lower beneath the covers, allowing the heady scent of Thranduil’s body to fill his very being and lighten his mind. It feels as if he is ascending to another plane of existence when he breathes in the aroma of Thranduil’s desire, so sweet and strong that even a field of flowers in full bloom cannot compare. The silken bedcovers shield Thranduil’s nipples from what cold may come, for there is nothing but fervent passion to be found burning down below. Legolas licks his lips, taking the time to savour the slight feeling of being suffocated by his father’s presence. Even in bed, sleepy and soft, Thranduil exudes pure majesty into the space beyond his own. Legolas is right in Thranduil’s space not owning it but offering himself to blend in with the pleasure that is soon to come.

With both thumbs he caresses the insides of Thranduil’s thighs, feeling moisture there from the heat between those beautiful legs. A luscious, dark erection tents the bedcovers with its impressive length and Legolas gladly worships it as one would an idol, gazing in the darkness with adoration in his eyes. He runs his tongue along the thickness of it and hears the most wonderful moan spill from Thranduil’s lips, somewhat muffled as the King has turned his head so far that half his mouth is pressed into his pillow. Thranduil’s back arches just a little, his breaths shallow but in rhythm with his heart that Legolas can feel in a thick vein nearby. It is then that he pushes the tip of Thranduil’s length past his lips, sucking on all the juicy sweetness with a soft hum.

“Nnm…” His thumbs rubbing circles into Thranduil’s thighs stop to take several handfuls of the relaxed flesh there, his fingers allowing everything to slip through as he will not force his desire for touch upon his sleeping father. Legolas fondles and gropes wherever he pleases while keeping his goal in mind – _he must not wake Thranduil up._

From the way Thranduil is groaning and sighing, it seems unlikely that he is still asleep. But Legolas knows the patterns well, and takes his father deep into his throat with every sense on alert for Thranduil’s reactions. Slow and sensual are his motions to bring Thranduil his final release and when the King squirms into a lewd sprawl with mouth agape and a hot gasp at his lips, Legolas knows he has done well.

There is bliss in every cell of Thranduil’s body when Legolas removes himself from the covers, still light-headed from the lack of air. The smile he sees is worth every drawback, and Legolas manages to get himself to his own bed before collapsing into his own light rest.

“Legolas…” Thranduil sighs.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas goes back to fiddle diddle but something is not quite right...

The next night when Legolas goes to his father, there is a draft coming through the door. Slightly ajar and quite suspicious, the door invites Legolas to peep first and ask questions later. He cannot see much and so he pushes it open, slipping into his father’s chambers without a single word. There lies Thranduil in bed sprawled atop the covers, his eyes shut and lips pressed together. He appears to be troubled as Legolas creeps forth, and will not have to endure this for much longer.

“What ails you tonight…?” he whispers, removing his robes to reveal the lack of anything else underneath. Without pants he feels free, and kneels over his father’s sleeping body. His hair brushes against Thranduil’s face and a slight twitch breaks the eerie stillness there. In silence, Legolas watches. Thranduil’s eyes do not move, making it clear what stage of sleep he is in.

 _‘He has just begun to rest… half an hour ago, perhaps? Mm. I shan’t wake him._ ’ As Thranduil’s breathing is neither deep nor shallow, Legolas is extra careful in what he does. On all fours he shifts down to straddle one of Thranduil’s thighs, a hand trailing down the King’s naked body. His other hand goes to stroke the thin, almost bony fingers of Thranduil’s hand nearby, before picking it up to place a gentle kiss on the knuckles. It is a sweet gesture he only offers when Thranduil is acting majestic and wants to be openly worshipped, but here in the dark Legolas does it out of respect. He will always begin with a kiss, and never rush his work. Smooth and silky are his lips along Thranduil’s wrist then arm, his fingers twined with his father’s as he holds Thranduil’s hand. He offers companionship and solidarity to whatever figure Thranduil takes in his dreams. Elves are known to practice astral projection in their sleep, and the King is no exception as his soul floats away when he achieves inner peace. Sometimes he will become another person, or even an animal on his nightly adventures. Legolas has heard him speak of these dreams to Galion, only when very drunk and somewhat emotional. Tonight Thranduil does not move at all. His physical functions are beyond Legolas’s influence now.

Still, it is a little strange how tranquil he is. No, there is tension there and Legolas knows it, but Thranduil is not responding…

“Ada, you’re not dead are you?” Legolas mumbles into Thranduil’s flesh just as he turns to kiss his father’s neck. It is then that movement catches his eye. Jerking up he stares but Thranduil’s eyes are still, his lips still pressed shut and his breath has not changed. Legolas slinks down whilst keeping watch on his father’s eyes, a little nervous now that his anxieties have come into play. Every night he thinks of what might happen if Thranduil wakes and finds himself at the mercy of his son, with arousal and heat spreading through his body. For his own _son_ to do this for him… Legolas does not know what Thranduil would do. He does not want to find out and goes to nuzzle into Thranduil’s chest when a choked gasp shatters the silence. An ice-cold grip holds his wrist in a fierce clench and Thranduil’s eyes are wide open, white and grey burning into the darkness.

“Eep!” Legolas squeaks like a mouse, unwilling to believe that gasp had been him. So quickly had Thranduil moved his hand around… he might have been… awake, all this time. Awake to feel those kisses, hear those words, and force himself to appear asleep. Such control. Now, he inspires sheer terror in Legolas who tries to tug himself away, to no avail.

“Do you really think I am _dead_ when I am waiting, Legolas?”

Thranduil’s deep voice weighs upon Legolas like a thick, wet sheet that sticks to the sides of his head. Like water dripping into his ears, the words fill Legolas’s mind with a cold awakening. _Waiting… but for what_?

“A-Ada I am sorry, I…”

“Legolas.” Calm as ever, Thranduil rises. Legolas makes an attempt to scramble back only to feel that hand around his wrist tighten, causing no small degree of pain. “Answer me.”

Legolas closes his eyes and steadies himself, trying to relax. Thranduil’s grip does not lessen.

“No, Ada… I thought you were asleep. I did not know you waited-” Legolas cannot finish his words as they stick in his throat like thick, hardening tree sap. _‘What is this… block to my words? Why can’t I explain?’_ It is then that the tickling heat of gentle tears slides down to Legolas’s cheeks, alerting him of his emotional display. He does not snivel or cry like a child – rather, he looks up into his father’s eyes through a wet, quivering haze. Thranduil will have none of it and pitches forwards until he smooshes his face into his son’s. He tilts his head with an ancient skill he has not used for millenia and swallows every hitched breath that threatens to come from his son. His kisses are of long restrained lust, thick and wet and all-consuming. He groans without shame at the taste of his son, remembering the chocolate tarts they had for dinner as he licks and bites. Oh yes, he remembers also how delectable lips were the last time he tasted them when somewhat sober and sucks the most obscene sounds out of his son. Soft whimpers and cries escape the space between them that is made only for breath, as Thranduil will not let his son suffocate for his own greedy pleasure.

“Of _course_ I have waited.” says Thranduil after Legolas melts in his arms as he is cradled close, lips swollen and red. “I wait for you every night and not once have I been awake to see…”

Legolas can only spit out a breathless “Guhh” in reply, his eyes wide and glistening.

“My guardian angel, the one of my dreams. It is _you_ … **_you_** have been touching me all this time, and I have not once caught you…”

“P…please do not be upset.” Legolas whimpers, catching his words before they turn into a wail. “I-”

“Fuck me when I’m awake, damn it.” The growl Thranduil unleashes is nothing like the dreary, slow words he uses when speaking during the day. He is not with a random elf or imbecilic companion now – his bright and beautiful son sits here with tears on his face and _oh_ , how Thranduil wants to hold him. His grip on the prince’s wrist loosens and slides along a toned, bare arm to run all the way around Legolas’s upper back. There he holds him and looks into those watery blue eyes. Only the moonlight lets him see. He does not need it, for his vision is best in the dark. More than sight he needs _touch_ , to feel his precious prince as he does during the night.

“Touch me.” he commands, wiping Legolas’s tears with several kisses. “Show me what you do to me while I rest.”

“I….” Legolas stops himself right there. _‘He wants to see… so he is not upset, rather… curious? I do not know what to think… but I cannot disobey.’_ Without a moment’s further hesitation he runs his shaking hands along Thranduil’s sides, self-conscious now that the King is awake to judge how he works. _‘This is not right,’_ he thinks. ‘ _He is meant to be asleep… I…’_ The loss of control leaves Legolas reeling and he is clumsy when he gropes at his father’s ass. Thranduil’s old, snide smirk is there as is the cutting edge of his voice.

“Amateur.” he scoffs, bending down to headbutt Legolas away. “Let me show you how it’s done.” Before Legolas can feel offended he is pushed to the bed, forced to lie flat as Thranduil pins his arms above his head. There is a constantly searching look in Thranduil’s eyes akin to a mariner seeking the horizon, but what he looks for is only Legolas’s consent.

“ _Please,”_ Legolas whines under his breath with what air he has left. Thranduil’s presence is smothering him under such overwhelming power that he can hardly inhale without taking in that deliciously familiar scent. “ _Teach me.”_

So Thranduil does as he likes to be done to himself, bending to scrape his teeth along Legolas’s neck. For long, sweet minutes he sucks the flesh there into his mouth so much that it _burns_ , and Legolas feels every nerve tingle as blood is drawn to the surface of his skin. But Thranduil’s sharp teeth do not break anything further than a few capillaries and Legolas does not bleed, instead feeling every sensation heightened to the point of overstimulation. He writhes under the touch he has never felt before and naturally parts his legs to accommodate Thranduil settling between them. The King laughs, low and seductive.

“My little green leaf wants it already, mm?” Thranduil smacks Legolas’s inner thigh with his erect length, as Legolas has lifted his legs to spread them easily. His ass twitches as a dry but smooth rubbing of silky flesh against creamy skin gets going down there, and for a moment he fears Thranduil will take him dry. He is by no means innocent but most definitely a virgin, and knows how these things go.

“Wait…” he whispers, trying to find what he wants to say. Thranduil slides himself up and along Legolas’s crotch instead, in soft circular motions where his own talents are made clear. Like a dancer his body moves in a wave, hips not twisting but swaying around in an erotic mimicry of flowers in a breeze. Legolas is mesmerized by the sight and does not even think to hold his voice back when a finger comes to the glistening tip of his desire. Thranduil takes the wetness there and it slicks his fingers, shining in the moonlight. Legolas sees those cool grey eyes flutter and thinks for a moment that his father is still very tired after a whole day and partial night of no sleep. He tries to protest but all that goes out the window as Thranduil tilts his hips forth, spreads his legs a tiny bit and pushes his fingers right up his ass. He works from behind as it is easier that way, his length still in contact with Legolas’s own. A little silvery liquid leaks onto Legolas from his father and he wants to taste it, hungry for his favourite midnight snack. His hands are no longer pinned and Thranduil runs his own free hand down his chest, circling a nipple with long, slender fingers. He rocks back and forth on the fingers stuffed into his hole and seems intent on getting it nice and wide for his son. He has not done this sort of thing in months, stretching himself. Indeed, he feels tight but it is all the better for Legolas to enjoy. The prince has done so much for him in all these years… he deserves a nice, warm body to please himself with. Thranduil knows he is beautiful, prestigious and one to be desired.

He will let Legolas be his first.

Thranduil is up to three fingers and groaning into the heated air when Legolas raises his upper body. Thranduil watches his son’s abdominal muscles clench with the effort and smiles, poking him there.

“Do you want this?” he murmurs, removing his fingers to go and turn around. He is quick in displaying his ass and spreads it open, his face down in the pillows. “Come, it is your reward…”

“Ada…” Legolas stares at what is on offer and shuffles forth on his knees, peering at Thranduil who has craned his neck to look at him. “You… wait, have you known all this time of my nightly missions?”

“Call them whatever you will… but my dreams are more pleasant when you are near. What you do… I appreciate it. Now come, fuck me before I get impatient.”

 _‘And here I thought he could wait for all eternity…’_ Legolas watches that ancient mystery and poise in the way Thranduil holds himself, even now as he is bent over and panting a little in wait.

“As you wish.” It takes some time for Legolas to collect himself and speak as he usually does, a little too embarrassed to use the same filthy language of his father’s lust-addled mind. Thranduil is trying his best to hold his ass up as a lazy drowsiness threatens to overtake him – he needs to sleep or he will collapse, but there is no way he’s missing out on this. Legolas slicks himself with what leaks from his arousal (he is positively _dripping_ with excitement, unable to feel nervous in the face of such confidence) and presses the tip of his length to Thranduil’s entrance. Thranduil has fingered himself many times before and even shoved things up his ass but never has he taken an actual cock. So he sighs, drooling into his pillow with eyes rolled back as Legolas shoves himself in a little harder than necessary.

 _“_ Ooohhnnnn… mmm, you’ve been longing for this, ion nín… I can tell.” The King’s voice is somewhat strained as his tolerance wraps around the pain in his ass, squeezing and relaxing in time with the minute shifts of Legolas. Legolas is speechless at the feeling of such incredible heat, like a furnace but wet and sweet-scented all at once. He knows the taste of Thranduil’s body, including his ass but to stick himself in there… It is a privilege nobody else will ever have. He pulls out halfway and slides back in, focussing now on Thranduil who grunts and moans into his pillow. His back is arched to offer Legolas a better angle and due to the prince’s length being a little shorter than his father’s, he has more to offer in thickness than a spearlike, piercing fuck. He starts up a pace like the rocking of a boat in a turbulent sea, his motions smooth and gliding rather than jerky and hesitant. It feels _natural_ to do this and oh, it is just another way of giving Thranduil the pleasure he enjoys so much.

“More…” Thranduil groans, beginning to pant heavily as Legolas clutches him for a better grip. While Legolas pounds into him a little harder and faster, he finds his breath shortened by how _good_ it feels to have Legolas stroke him. One hand is on his hanging, hard cock and the other runs up and down his belly, sending shivers all through his entire nervous system. Never before has his body known such ecstasy and he is glad to be somewhat sober, knowing he will want to remember this.

A deep feeling of connection swells between them as their coupling continues and Legolas gets it for the first time, wondering what it is. It is too glorious to be afraid of and Thranduil thinks to himself that _yes, this was meant to be…_ He feels it too, a thing of love, passion and memory that will never fade. It bursts into white light behind his eyes and when the hot surge of thick liquid fills him deep inside, he can do nothing more than groan in complete satisfaction. Legolas cannot stop trembling as he pulls out of his limp father, who is now sprawled on his stomach with legs having given up on keeping him propped a long time ago.

“Ada…” he whispers, folding the covers over himself and Thranduil to form a snug burrito. “Let me sleep with you.”

“I wouldn’t… have it… any other way….” Thranduil mouths with little more than a breath to his words as he drifts into a deep, peaceful sleep. Legolas watches him throughout the night and thinks to himself how wonderful it is to truly rest.

Thranduil smiles that night, and for every night after.


End file.
